


O'Death

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of Karkat Vantas and the revival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O'Death

**Author's Note:**

> The revival part will be done in better detail soon! It's a bit of a more indepth view of the "dying" part in Death Won't Allow It.

_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,_  
who will have mercy on your sou.l  
  


“It’s a damn shame, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.  I never knew him personally.”

“A boy so young.”

Cancer is thick in his veins, clotting his mind with thoughts of the end and nightmares he can’t shake off with coughing fits.  Karkat hates the color white, more than he hates the color red.  It’s passive, cruel and unforgiving and when he counts the tiles on the ceiling for the eighth time that morning, he can feel the room shake with laughter at him. 

The bed’s hard, doesn’t bend to fit his body, and he knows that he shouldn’t care, he doesn’t have much longer to stay in here, but it’s aggravating.  This whole situation is aggravating; the smoke in the room burns his lungs with a taste of ash and something expensive. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”  He’s snapping, he notes and it’s unfair.  The man doesn’t respond despite his outburst, just stands at the foot of his bed with down casted eyes and a smoke to his lips.  His suit is unwrinkled and it makes Karkat want to, in all his self-loathing fury, reach up and crumple the folds under his fingers.  He thinks he might hate him, but that’s impossible because the reaper is all he’s ever known. 

“It’s a damn shame, isn’t it?” He chokes out and can’t pinpoint the moment he started crying, but he can’t stop now.  It stains his face something shameful but it’s a comfort that the reaper allows him, albeit be small.  “A boy so fucking young,” he coughs and coughs and coughs and his blood is thick with something wrong and monstrous and it’s a fact he can no longer hide.  He’s going to die here.

“I suppose so,” comes the gruff response, a voice hoarse with smoke and otherworldly sounds and Karkat doesn’t understand how he could ever hate the reaper when he’s been here all this time and that’s something beautiful.  “I never knew him personally.”

“Liar.”  It’s all he can force out in between intervals of coughing and crying and he feels like a child again, the first time he saw the man in a suit no one else could notice.  He feels like he’s regressing to a time when his emotions were simple, when he knew he was sad or happy and there weren’t things like regret and desperation and heartache and fear.

He’s no longer coughing just phlegm, and the red is brutal against the cold of the white.  It gets on everything, his hands, his chin, the bed sheets, the gown.  He doesn’t need to see himself to know his eyes are sunken in and he’s paler than this room.  He knows what’s happening to him, he knows he’s dying, and it’s inevitable.

Karkat Vantas passes away today, and he’s well aware of it, the pleasant hold of the ghost of arms makes him hope that this is the way to die.  When he wakes up in a grave two weeks later, he doesn’t have a panic attack.  He listens to the dirt being shoveled, to the movement of feet and when the door is cracked open, he looks Death right in the eye.

“What took you so long?”

_Oh, Death, оh Death, oh Death,  
Won’t you spare me over till another year._


End file.
